


Territory

by storm_of_sharp_things



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Cait Sith - Freeform, Cat Q, Community: MI6 Cafe | mi6_cafe, Cu Sith, Dog Bond, Fluff and Humor, M/M, MI6CafeChallenge, Magic March, Scottish Folklore & Mythology, cats and dogs, fae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things
Summary: Q and Bond are both fae, though neither realize it at first. As Q, the king of cats in London, and Bond, a spectral moorhound, stumble toward a relationship, they get along like, well, cats and dogs.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 26
Kudos: 198





	Territory

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [iamanonniemouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/works) for the lightning-fast and entirely-too-perceptive-for-comfort beta! ❤️😆

From the very first time they’d met, Bond had smelled of Q’s ancient home; he carried an elusive trace of rock and lichen and the cool whisper of mist against fur, an earthy richness of whisky and the sweet sharp scent of moss crushed under paws. Q was helplessly fascinated even as his other senses screamed danger at him. His subjects, the cats of London, could bring him no firm information, either.

“His den is guarded,” one raggedy tom related, the fur still raised along his spine. He sidled uncomfortably, tail twitching, unable to meet Q’s eyes squarely. “Something _dark._ Something _canine_.” Q soothed him with a purr, sending him off with a kipper from his own breakfast. He knew Bond didn’t have a dog; no double-oh could keep a pet except temporarily as a cover.

They were busy, very busy, the two of them, too busy to make any real connection, but every time Bond came back from a mission, came close, Q wanted to bury his face in the man’s clothing, inhale that elusive scent hidden among Bond’s own rich smell. Why did 007 have to reek so of maleness, of warmth and comfort, of sex? Every time Bond was injured, Q wanted to strip him, kneading him in comfort while he licked the wounds clean and purred him to sleep.

His feline scouts always brought back the same tidings — Bond’s den was protected, they didn’t dare get too close. Bond himself seemed fond of cats, and would often pause to pet one he met in the streets, but none could or would approach his home.

One fine night, Q decided to indulge his fae nature and have a look for himself, reveling in the feel of sleek dark fur sliding to cover his skin, the prick of his claws as he stretched, the sharp focus of his hunting vision as he blinked and took off across the rooftops. If any human caught sight of his passage beyond the whisper of a shadow, they would, at best, see only a strangely large black cat, moving fast and with intent.

He knew Bond would be at home, had tracked his overdue equipment there. Q flicked an ear in amusement; if Bond didn’t want to be monitored, he should turn in his kit like any other agent.

As he approached the building, he slowed, feeling the wards prickle along his fur. Bond was indeed protected by some fae magic. It wouldn’t keep Q out if he was determined, but he wasn’t certain what it might trigger. Cait sìth were hardy and long-lived, but not immortal, and this... _other_...reeked of an equal power to his own. And it was rather canine, Q decided as he dropped his mouth open, drawing the scent into his throat and nose to taste it properly. He crouched on the rooftop across the way and pondered, his tail moving slowly and his ears flicking as he stared at the windows of Bond’s flat.

James looked up from his book for the dozenth time, distracted by the attention to his wards. It wasn’t the first night this had happened — far from it. There were few fae in London but enough that, although rare, occasional contact was inevitable. But this — while in the past it had merely been faint brushes of curiosity, this was far more purposeful. Almost as if the other fae were testing him.

He felt the urge to snarl ripple along his upper lip and his wards surged with that same impulse. He sensed the other drawing back slowly, giving ground but not retreating, and he sighed, closing the book. This wasn’t what he’d intended for the night.

He stripped off his pyjamas and shrugged into his fur, dropping forward to all fours as he sniffed the air, trying to catch a hint of what was waiting for him out there. He nosed the latch open on the door to the terrace and let the night wind carry all the scents to him, inhaling deeply and then sneezing hard at the unexpected spicy kick of a cait sìth. Here? In _his_ London? He growled, padding out into the night, claiming his ground and glaring around at the rooftops.

Q just about fell backwards from his perch as the cù sìth stalked out of Bond’s flat onto the terrace. It was massive, a dark dog nearly the size of a pony, and it bared its teeth threateningly as it growled, swinging its huge head from side to side as it searched for him.

He let slip a small hiss at the thought of this creature roaming around in _his_ city, his _realm_. And what did it have to do with Bond... The shadow dog snarled and Q saw the flash of gas-ring blue eyes and actually slipped backwards off the roof in shock this time, landing four-footed on a balcony below and launching himself homewards as fast as he could run.

James sensed the fae fleeing and snapped his teeth shut on a growl, stomping back inside and tugging the door shut. He shook himself hard, trying to rid himself of the tension from the encounter, and finally sighed, collapsing in a heap on the soft rug as he panted to clear his lungs of the feline aroma.

Not that it was horrible, he thought. It even had a faint familiarity to it that he couldn’t quite place. But he’d probably have to hunt it down, drive it away; cait sìth had all the territoriality and arrogance of a normal cat with the powers of a fae behind it. And this one seemed sneakier than most - if the creature had been around for longer than a few weeks, it had kept itself well hidden.

He heaved another sigh. Wasn’t it enough that he kept the world away from his homeland? Did he have to police his own city, too? It just didn’t seem fair.

Q paced his flat in agitation, cats streaming in and out of his windows as he issued orders to secure the boundaries and keep watch. Bond, a fae? A cù sìth? A fucking _hound?_ It certainly explained a great deal — his luck, his skills, his many impossible resurrections...

Q froze as he realized it also explained that tantalizing scent of something like home. He knew Bond hailed from the Scottish Highlands and he himself had been born there, though he’d left long ago, out of sheer boredom, to live in the marvels of cities and technology. He didn’t miss roving as a shadow among the hills and glens and isolated crofts. His lip curled in a sneer at the thought of going back.

But Bond... Q dropped onto his sofa and curled into a thoughtful ball. A cù sìth, like any dog, would have strong protective instincts over what he considered his territory and Bond would likely try to drive him away if left to his own devices. And that would simply not be acceptable.

In the morning, James woke naked on his living room rug. He spent so much time in his human skin that he’d shifted back automatically in his sleep, which, while a good defense mechanism for a fae on his own among humans, left him breathless for a moment with a longing for pack that he hadn’t felt in years, for the comfort of even one other furry body to curl up with.

Damn that cat for stirring it up again! James pushed to his feet and headed to his shower, his gaze falling on the satchel of equipment he still hadn’t returned to Q branch out of what sense of perversity he hadn’t bothered to parse. Well, if he were honest, he was resisting the lure of the Quartermaster.

He leaned against the wall, staring at the bag. The lithe Quartermaster with the sharp tongue and quicksilver wit, the Quartermaster of the rare sparkling grin and the slim suppleness that seemed to lean ever so slightly towards him whenever he came close. If he were honest, he wanted the Quartermaster in his bed, sweetly pliant or wickedly resistant as he pleased.

He nodded in decision and went to take a shower. He’d return his equipment, apologize graciously for the lateness, and see if he could coax the Quartermaster into lunch at the very least.

James tapped on the door frame of Q’s office and wondered a little at the way the Quartermaster’s eyes widened when he looked up. James gave him a reassuring smile, holding up the satchel. “I’ve been remiss,” James admitted with his best charming ruefulness.

“Ah. We had a pool dedicated to when you might get around to that.” Q rose to his feet but didn’t come around the desk, keeping it between them. “Thank you, 007, however you could have turned your kit in to any one of the literal dozens of technicians you walked past out there.”

James felt his brows draw slightly. Had he offended the man? Q would normally have been much more friendly and this wary standoffish behaviour was troubling.

“Q...” He dropped the satchel onto his desk and started around, his empty hands held out slightly from his sides. He stopped when Q took a step back, holding out a hand to distance himself.

“Sorry, I’m...not feeling that well this morning,” Q said hurriedly. “Best to keep some distance.”

James frowned and looked him down and up in concern. “Do you need to go to Medical?” He took another step forward, intending to sniff near the quartermaster; even in human shape, his nose should pick up at least a hint of any illness.

“That’s _enough_ , Bond!” Q snapped, crossing his arms and retreating to the corner of the room to glare at him. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but...” He froze, wide-eyed, as James let a faint growl slip.

James was immediately appalled at himself — although he was baffled by Q’s behaviour, he’d never slipped like that in front of a human, or at least not since he’d passed into adulthood. “I’m so sorry, Q,” he said softly, backing toward the door. “I...” He paused as an inhale brought him the unmistakable trace of pheromones and his head tilted as he comprehended what was unmistakably Q’s arousal.

“Q...” he said in a low rumble, the corner of his mouth turning up slyly. “I think it might be time for a break. We could go get some fresh air, possibly a bit of lunch...”

Q had been shocked to find Bond at the door to his office when he thought he’d had more time to make his plans. Bond didn’t _seem_ about to rip his throat out but then they _were_ in the middle of Q branch and, among many other reasons, he was a double-oh for his absolute skill in dissembling.

Bond was certainly acting enough like a predator to unnerve Q entirely, though. When he started coming around the desk, Q felt his hackles go up and he knew he had to retreat or shift. And if Bond _didn’t_ already know Q was cait sìth, that would absolutely be the end of his cover.

The problem was that he wasn’t retreating in _fear_ ; no, his traitorous sensibilities _wanted_ Bond to chase him down, corner him, compel him to yield. And if Bond came close enough, even his human nose would clearly pick up _that_ scent.

But if Bond _did_ suspect him, the first thing he’d try would be to lure him out of MI6 in order to attack him in private, away from human eyes. And somehow Q would just have to wrangle his own lust and frustrate Bond’s plans until he had time to make his own.

“Your concern, and your offer, is appreciated,” he said stiffly, keeping his arms crossed. “But I’m afraid I’ve no time for such niceties, Bond. If I may get back to my work...”

James felt the slow smile stretch his mouth as he watched the quartermaster struggle with himself. “Q. Have you had anything more than tea yet today?” He spared a quick glance at the desk, noting the half-empty and cold mug.

Q lifted his chin, his brows drawing as James took a step towards him, and then another. “Again, I thank you for your concern...Bond!”

James had him literally cornered now, the quartermaster’s shoulders pressed back against the walls, and James felt the predator within him want to bare his teeth as he inhaled a slow breath along Q’s throat. He let a soft amused sound escape him when Q tried, not very hard, to push him away.

“Bond. _James_ ,” Q said breathlessly. “You need to...you must stop.”

“And if I choose not to?” James dropped his head to touch the tip of his nose to the corner of Q’s jaw, lazily drawing in the warm scent from the pulse point just below. He brushed his mouth over it, feeling Q’s heartbeat jump against his lips. “If I choose to just...continue?”

With Q’s shiver came a tantalizing trace of something so familiar, some smell that warmed and soothed a cold spot within him, and he touched his tongue tip to Q’s pulse to taste it better.

Q sucked in a shocked breath, his pulse stuttering, and then he was ducking under James’ arm and away, running his hands through his hair in agitation as he moved to the opposite corner. “Out. Out! 007, get out of my office. Now.” He refused to look at James, pacing the few steps available to him and rubbing his hands over his upper arms.

James let his mouth open slightly to draw air into his throat, tasting the trail of arousal Q had left behind him. “All right, quartermaster.” He could be patient. Well, reasonably so. “Shall I bring you something back from the Pret?”

Q gave him a startled glance, meeting his eyes for the first time since James had advanced on him. “You were serious about lunch?”

James felt his lips quirk and headed for the door. “Absolutely. Why don’t you text me exactly what you want and I’ll bring it back shortly. Hmm?”

Q watched him go and bit his lip. It would be stupid to assume he was safe, but his traitorous body wanted nothing more than for Bond to corner him again.

R came to his door and leaned in. “Do we need to sabotage his kit?”

Q huffed a laugh. “No, thank you. Anyway, I doubt it would help.” R inclined her head in agreement and closed the door behind her when she withdrew. He dropped into his chair and closed his eyes, remembering the heat of Bond’s mouth on his skin with a shudder of longing.

His phone dinged and he fumbled it out of his pocket. **_Lunch order?_**

Oh, yes. Lunch. Damn. **_Tomato soup and a roll please_**.

There was a pause. **_That’s not enough to keep you going. Grilled ham and cheese as well?_**

Q blinked at his phone. **_Are you forcing food on me?_**

**_And a salad, got it. Back shortly._ **

He was torn, staring at the little screen. His cat wanted to snarl at being ordered about and preen at being provided for and pampered. **_Fine_** , he texted back, adding **_Just leave it with R_**. He’d be lost if Bond came back into his office today.

After a pause, he rather grudgingly tagged on a **_Thank you_**.

 ** _Of course_** , came the response, followed by a kiss emoji. Q tossed his phone onto his desk with a glare and started working again.

James sighed and handed over Q’s lunch to a stern-looking R and offered her a cookie. “Transportation tax,” he said, fixing a charming smile firmly in place.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” she said, accepting the cookie nonetheless. James winked at her and strode out of Q branch with a jaunty wave at one of the security cameras as he passed. He’d bet a bottle of his finest whisky that Q was watching.

It was a beautiful day in London and he decided to walk home, smiling appreciatively as he headed out into the sunshine. There was an elderly cat who usually slept on top of a wall at the end of the street and who always greeted him when he walked past. As he approached, the cat, splayed out on its side, opened its eyes, one blue and one green, and reached out a lazy paw toward him. He smiled at the greeting and touched its paw as he paused.

“Salutations, O noble beast.”

The cat regarded him thoughtfully, gave him a surprisingly sweet _mrrrp_ sound, and then closed its eyes with that tragic feline world-weariness. James laughed, moving on.

It made him think of the cait sìth again and he felt a frown gather. He liked cats, liked their sleekness and their attitude, liked the fact that the furry little bastards purred and meowed sweetly and hid their essential predatory nature from humans well enough that humans thought they had cats domesticated. He admired the way a human household would arrange itself around a feline inhabitant even while expecting entirely different behaviour from a dog.

James’ mouth quirked as he found himself stopping to pet another cat that had sauntered imperiously out from an alley to greet him, and realized it was the fourth, or possibly the fifth, that had made itself known on his walk.

He scowled down at the cat he was crouched to pet and it gave him a look that combined superiority and angelic innocence. He snorted. “I’m not buying what you’re selling, cat.”

A businessman passing on the sidewalk gave him an odd look and James snorted again. “I’d like to know what sheltered world _he_ lives in where a cat doesn’t understand _exactly_ what a human is saying.” The cat blinked at him and then sauntered away again, tail curling in feline poise.

“But it gives the game away if they let on,” an old woman murmured with a smile as she paused politely to let the cat cross in front of her. The cat swerved to bump its haunch against her leg and then walked on as if nothing so untoward had happened, disappearing into the shadows.

“Dogs are much more straightforward,” James said, straightening with a charming smile.

“Oh, aye, so they are,” she agreed in amusement. “And yet it’s the cats who have free run of the city while the dogs must prance about on the end of a lead.”

He felt his eyes crinkle as the old lady beamed at him. “So you’re not a dog person,” he decided with a chuckle.

She tilted her head. “I like them well enough, though they require a fair amount of seeing to and that’s harder these days than it used to be. And for unquestioning companionship, you can’t beat the loyal creatures. But you’ve got to admire a cat’s independence, even if it’s nought but a sham.”

James narrowed his eyes at her slightly, taking in the cane and the stoop and the heterochromia that gave her one blue and one green eye.

She smiled at him sweetly though there was an entertained glint to her gaze. “Don’t be barking up the wrong tree, laddie. It’s a king you’re concerned with, not an old moggy like meself.”

James watched her hobble off, scowling after her. She wasn’t fae. And what king could she possibly be talking about?

Q managed to avoid face-to-face meetings at work, though he monitored Bond through his cats, instructing them to keep an eye on the agent where they could. He hadn’t expected old Maggie to reveal herself, but then she was a witch, troublesome creatures that they were, and not really one of his subjects, however feline she chose to be in her other skin.

She kept mainly to her post near MI6, winking at Bond the next day from her sleepy sprawl atop the low wall there and stretching out a paw when he hesitated. Through his cameras, Q watched the agent consider and then reach out to scratch her head cautiously, a tiny smile hooking the corner of his mouth up as she obviously began purring. After that, he seemed to accept her again, greeting her with careful courtesy at each meeting.

Q’s actual subjects were taking their duties seriously, in one case flushing out a pair of muggers from an alley before they could accost Bond. Q, enjoying the feline assault through security feeds, couldn’t decide whether it was more entertaining to watch the two men flail hysterically at the several attacking cats or whether it would have been more fun to watch them try and mug 007. At least he got to enjoy Bond’s face as the two came stumbling out of the alley, covered in hissing and clawing assailants.

And it was barely three more nights before he was back at the edge of Bond’s wards in cat form, testing the boundaries just to see what he could provoke. Well, _whom_ he could provoke...

He felt the snap of Bond’s impatience mixed with a growing curiosity. The man stepped out onto his terrace with his arms crossed, glaring into the night.

“I know you’re out there,” Bond growled softly, his words shaped for a fae’s ears alone. “I should warn you, cat, I don’t like games...”

Q let an amused noise slip and knew Bond caught it by his scowl. 007 didn’t like games? Q let his whiskers fold forward in feline laughter. Perhaps it was only fun if Bond was in charge of the game, but no hound worth his fur would turn down the opportunity to occasionally play, with prey or otherwise.

Bond growled, in exasperation this time, and stomped back into his flat, slamming the terrace door. Q sighed to himself. This probably wasn’t the best way to go about testing Bond’s tolerance, but he couldn’t seem to help it. It probably didn’t bode well for any eventual relationship.

James couldn’t help but notice the growing prevalence of cats in his life even as there was a distinct absence of a certain quartermaster. Q was constantly away or in a meeting, although his techs were always oh-so-helpful as they intercepted James’ every attempt to reach the quartermaster’s closed door. Outside of MI6, he found himself inundated with cats in a weird inverse proportion to his lack of quartermaster.

“Were you trying to tell me there’s actually a king of cats here in London?” he asked the witch one day as he leaned on the wall and scratched behind her ears. Her tail flicked in amusement and she gave him a lazy blink when he lifted his hand away. “Am I meant to understand there’s a cait sìth living here who’s ruling over the city’s cats? Do you answer to him?”

She yawned widely, showing off her teeth, and rolled over to give him her back.

James snorted. “You’re the least helpful witch I’ve ever encountered. Normally you lot can’t be kept off with a stick when there’s an opportunity to interfere.”

She began delicately washing her ears with her paw, ignoring him regally.

James sighed. The damn cait sìth had been by several times, always at night, just to prowl the edges of his wards. He was beginning to think he might seriously have to mount a hunt just to track down the elusive bastard. And if he was a king of cats, then every damn cat James’d met was probably a scout of some sort for him.

“Wouldn’t figure a witch’d spy for a king,” James muttered sourly. The cat spared him a glance which combined offended pride and amusement and then went back to her meticulous bath. “Fine, then maybe it’s time to change things around.”

He headed back into MI6 with the lunchtime crowds, thinking about hunts and what traps he might set around his home.

Q bumped into Bond entirely by accident, coming out of a crowded elevator into an equally crowded hallway. He cursed lunchtime as Bond flashed a delighted grin at him, took a firm hold on Q’s upper arm, and pulled him into an small empty office, kicking the door shut behind them.

“Bond, I...” Q trailed off into a moan as Bond pressed him into the wall and nudged his chin up to kiss at the soft skin under his jaw.

“Q,” Bond murmured against him. “You’re hiding from me, and I want to know why.” His hands slid down Q’s sides to cradle his hips, pulling him against Bond and leaving Q in no doubt of his interest.

Q let his head fall back against the wall with a thud, biting his lip, and tried to push Bond back a little. If Bond didn’t stop very very soon...

“I’m not going to stop,” Bond breathed into Q’s ear. “You don’t want me to stop.”

“James...”

Q gasped as James leaned away just far enough to turn Q to face the wall, pushing back against him and pinning Q’s hands to the wall with his own. Q shivered, craving the warmth and strength all along his back, loving how trapped he was. He squirmed, tugging at the hands holding his, not really trying to get away; wanting James to hold him tighter, press him into the wall, make it just a little harder to breathe.

“My god, Q, _why_ haven’t we done this yet?” James’ voice was low, rough with his desire, almost a growl, and Q wanted nothing more than to melt into him, give in to the primal urges rising along his spine. But he knew he’d shift, after, and he couldn’t take the risk that James’ black hound might react very badly to suddenly being presented with a spectral cat in bed with him. They’d have to come to an understanding, some accommodation, first.

“Secrets,” Q whispered and James stilled against him. “You have secrets.”

“Everyone has secrets,” Bond said after a pause. “You think you know mine?” He took a step back. “Or is it that you feel you should know them first?”

Q let his fingers curl against the wall as he took a deep unsteady breath, and then gathered himself to turn around. Bond was frowning at him but he didn’t seem angry so much as perplexed. Abruptly, Q couldn’t do this in human shape, but shifting at MI6 would be a disaster. “I...have to go,” he muttered and slipped away, leaving Bond scowling behind him.

He texted R that he was going to work from home and left the office entirely, needing to be on his own territory and in his own flat to curl up with a dozen or so cats and consider his options.

“He _likes_ cats,” he said out loud. The semi-feral tiger-striped tom gave him an unimpressed look. “But he _does_. He even likes Maggie.”

A young calico huffed in amusement and then sneezed, her tail twitching. Q smiled and scratched behind her ears. “You’re right, it’s more that Maggie likes him. Which is impressive enough, mind you.”

He sighed and got up to distribute several tins of cat food. “I know he’ll never just come out and tell me he’s fae; he’s far too canny for that. So I guess I’ll just have to risk going to him.”

He looked around at the intently eating cats and snorted. “Try not to mourn too much if he ends up tearing my throat out, hmm? None of you ungrateful lot can use a can opener, after all.”

James stared after the quartermaster as he fled the office, baffled by the strange resistance Q was evincing. He growled to himself and then snapped his teeth together with a click. He was getting sloppy about keeping his fae traits separate and somehow he wanted to blame Q for it.

Speaking of fae...he had a trap to set tonight for a cait sìth who might also be the London king of cats. Though the creature hadn’t attacked him, had shown no signs of territoriality towards him, there were questions James needed answers to and he’d have those answers tonight even if he had to go on a Great Hunt all by himself. He set his jaw and left MI6, determined to leave the mystery of Q for another time.

Q shifted into his fur and headed out through the night, leaping joyously from rooftop to rooftop across the city. He didn’t spend enough time in cat form, he was coming to realize. For all the administration’s talk of some hypothetical work-life balance, Q branch tended to attract single-minded workaholics and Q had let his fae nature get starved. Not a healthy situation and probably the reason he was handling his attraction to Bond so poorly. Well, at least he would see it resolved tonight, one way or another.

He slowed as he approached Bond’s home, feeling for the edges of the wards. The last thing he wanted to do was run headlong into another fae’s power. He paused on the rooftop across from the building, his whiskers quivering in confusion; he couldn’t feel any hint of the wards and Bond’s home was entirely dark.

Q crept towards the building, tailtip twitching, ears pricked forward. There was no movement inside and no sound reached his searching ears.

Baffled, he crouched to study the situation. Could Bond have been called away on a mission? Q was certain that _some_ notification of that would’ve reached him. He slowly came up to sit on his haunches, folding his tail neatly over his front paws as he glared across at the empty flat.

James watched the large black feline shape flow across the rooftops toward his home and then pause in the usual spot. His jaw dropped in a doggy grin and his ears focused forward as he waited in ambush on the next rooftop, his fae magic tightly coiled around him and nearly imperceptible from even a few feet away.

The creature was magnificent, there was no disputing that. Almost entirely black, with a white diamond on his chest, there was no doubt — he was the very embodiment of a Highland spectral cat, a cait sìth of unusual size and litheness, supple and graceful and dangerous in his own right. James was sure he himself would eventually win any fight they might get into, but he allowed that it wouldn’t be over quickly or easily.

A couple of much smaller cats clambered onto the roof to approach and touch noses to the larger and James recognized one as the standoffish tom that hung around his neighbourhood. The local spies reporting to their liege, he thought with amusement. He waited for them to leave, hunching a little as he readied himself to lunge.

Q flicked his tail in annoyed disappointment. He’d intended to have a resolution tonight and was irritated at the delay. He sent his two subjects off with courteous thanks despite his vexation and sighed; he supposed it had been foolish of him to assume anything involving 007 would be _simple_.

He let his shoulders sag a little as he turned to go and caught the barest flash of a massive black shadow leaping at him, but it was enough warning to allow him to roll with his attacker and bring his hind paws up to claw at the unprotected belly and...the scent of James swamped him and he barely managed to pull his claws in to avoid slicing the cù sìth’s stomach open.

The black dog had closed its jaws around his neck in the attack but now dropped him in shock, backing away with a bewildered whine, bright blue eyes staring at him.

Q gave himself an annoyed shake to settle his fur and glared at the beast, tail lashing. He let slip an indignant hiss and leapt from the roof onto Bond’s terrace below, pacing back and forth impatiently until the dog joined him and nosed the door open. Q slipped in after the great beast and circled him in Bond’s own living room, ears and whiskers back as he tried to suppress a low and irritated yowl.

Bond shifted, beautifully naked and staring at him. “ _Q?_ ”

He sounded stunned, Q thought in exasperation. He shifted to human himself, standing with his arms crossed. “That is hardly a complimentary tone, 007,” he snapped.

Bond looked him down and up in wonder and then his astonishment gave way to a slow grin of appreciation, tinged with a growing carnal hunger.

“Q,” he said with delight and came forward to touch him lightly, stroking his fingers along Q’s collarbones, and then sliding one hand behind Q’s neck and up into his thick hair.

Q tried to hold on to his pique, but felt it melting away under James’ intent desire. “You ambushed me,” he protested as James drew him closer, fitting their bodies together.

“You stalked me,” James pointed out, mouth moving over Q’s brow, nuzzling against his temple.

“I didn’t know how you’d react,” Q admitted. He curved his hands over James’ shoulders for support, craving the friction of their bodies against each other, the heat they were creating together, inside and out.

“Q.” James ducked his head to claim Q’s mouth in a slow devouring kiss. “How could you think we wouldn’t be compatible?” he asked when they broke apart for air.

Q shook his head with a smile. “Besides the whole cats and dogs thing?”

James shrugged. “Fair point, possibly. But right now, shut up and come to bed, kitten.”

Q considered arguing about dignity and precedence but decided it could wait for another argument. There was no doubt they’d have plenty of those, being who and what they were, but right now it was time to explore their compatibility, not dispute territory. He grinned and pulled James’ head down for another kiss before giving him one last warning. “If you say a word about doing it doggy-style...”


End file.
